


Fly with me

by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aerial shenanigans, Circus!Johnlock, Jealous!Sherlock, John fancies an OMC, M/M, Never fear it's Johnlock in the end, Slight touch of bondage (if you squint)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4744295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkOrchid/pseuds/FrostedFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A locked room murder takes our duo undercover to join a travelling circus...  but when your heart soars so high - how can tell if you're flying or falling?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does so love a locked room mystery... add in a big top and he simply can't refuse!

"It's got to be an eight, John. Maybe even a nine!" Sherlock's voice had that low thrum of anticipation that generally signalled excitement ahead, and like Pavlov's dog, John's heart-rate sped up inexorably in response. "A locked room murder, John, imagine! Do hurry up!" the tall detective all but hooted over his shoulder, as John rocked like a dinghy caught in the wake of a yacht. He stepped up his pace so as not to be left behind. Keeping up with Sherlock Holmes was no mean feat, especially when he was hot on the trail of a case he had deemed interesting enough to excite him. 

As usual, John was unaware of exactly who had been murdered, or how, or even where the murder had taken place. This was why he made such efforts to keep up with the mad genius - even if it did look a bit undignified to be always scuttling after that enigmatic man and his damned swirling coat. It was even less pleasant to find he had been left behind or end up lost in some blasted alley and be forced to ring Lestrade, or worse still, Mycroft, to come and take him home. In any case, he would usually manage to figure out the basics for himself as he went along - he supposed it kept him sharp, in a way. So long as he could ignore the frequent refrains of 'do keep up, John' and 'don't be an idiot!' There were days when he felt decidedly unappreciated. However, today was not one of those days, at least not yet. His friend and flatmate was practically vibrating in that fevered way of his, and like a special kind of vampire, John gleefully fedon the vital energy the consulting detective was exuding. He could feel it all the way to his toes. 

Suddenly Sherlock stopped, and John had to jerk himself backwards so as not to plough into him from behind. Stepping around his friend, whose taller frame completely blocked his view, John got his first good look at their apparent destination. His face lit up at the array of colourful tents, flags and wildly elaborate signs. He gasped in awe. "Is that - Sherlock! It's a  _circus!_ " he breathed. John had always  _loved_ the circus. Beside him, Sherlock caught his eye, taking in the obvious delight written on his eager face, and grinned. "Yes John, precisely! The circus! What did I tell you? It's ruddy Christmas!" 

***

The scene awaiting them inside the mobile home was unpleasant and about as far away from Christmas as you could get. Blood spattered the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. In the harsh light of the crime scene lanterns the blood had taken on a sickly sheen, as if not quite dry, and the colour had darkened to black. John knew from experience it would be tacky underfoot and the smell would be overpowering in the tiny space, the tang of iron and sulphur sticking to the inside of your nose long after you'd moved away. 

Sherlock moved into detective mode almost instantly, asking questions, deducing, observing. John held back until he was summoned forwards to hover over the rapidly cooling body still lying in the middle of all this mess, arms and legs stuck out at unusual angles, like a marionette doll whose strings had been cut mid-step.

"Well, Sherlock?" asked the DI in charge. "What's the verdict?"

"Murder, Inspector Dimmock. What else? No indication of forced entry, though - so the victim possibly knew the perpetrator, or found them non-threatening. And no signs of a struggle, the first blow took him very much by surprise. The body was left where it fell, not arranged, so this was not left for show. However, the knife wounds are carefully placed, indicating someone with some experience of knives, and it does not seem to be a crime of passion, even if there are multiple stab wounds causing massive blood-loss, there is too much precision in the cuts to indicate any passion in the act... You said the van was locked from the inside when he was found?"

"Yes. Found by his partner, his work partner, not his romantic one, that is to say. He was one half of a balancing high wire act. She came looking for him when he didn't show for rehearsal, had to get the contortionist over to pick the lock, key was jammed on the inside. As you can see there's no window a grown man could escape through. I'd have said suicide only there's no way he could have managed to cause those angles on his back if it was self-inflicted." 

"No, definitely murder. Did the witnesses say anything interesting? I assume everyone in the camp was questioned?"

"Actually, not all. Some won't even consider talking to an outsider, others insist they saw nothing anyway. The ring master seems eager for us to find the culprit - they suspect it's one of their own, I think. But circus folk don't really trust outsiders much. And they were due to move camp tonight, hit the road again. God knows they'll be on the move whether we allow it or not, they're a law unto themselves sometimes!"

"Excellent!" said the tall detective, with a flourish. "John? Back to 221b - we have bags to pack! I'm off to speak to the ring master! I do believe this circus has recruited a musician and a doctor to join their entourage! Perhaps they'll trust us if we are on the payroll, so to speak."

And with that, he was off - a flurry of long legs and trailing coat tails. And if his enthusiasm was as much about  _running away with the circus,_ as it was about solving crime _-_ and if half that fantasy was only interesting because it also involved _John,_ well, what did that matter? That was nobody's business but his own!


End file.
